the strictest order had been commanded to be observed in the march, and Raymond and he happened to be at opposite extremities of the division, this had been for some time impracticable.  A temporary halt having occurred, just as the head of the column came, within sight of the enemy’s fires, Grantham quitted his station on the flank, and hastened to the head of his division, where he found Raymond with his arms folded across his chest, and apparently absorbed in deep thought.  He tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and inquired in a tone of much kindness the subject of his musing.

Touched by the manner in which he was addressed, Raymond dropped his arms, and grasping the hand of the youth, observed in his usual voice; “Ah, is it you Henry—­Egad, my dear boy, I was just thinking of you—­and how very kind you have always been; never quizzing me as those thoughtless fellows have done—­and certainly never insinuating any thing against my courage—­that was too bad Henry, too bad, I could have forgiven anything but that.”

“Nay, nay, Raymond,” answered his companion, soothingly; “believe me, neither Molineux, nor Middlemore, nor St. Clair, meant anything beyond a jest.  I can assure you they did not, for when you quitted us they asked me to go in search of you, but the assembly then commencing to beat, I was compelled to hasten to my company, nor have I had an opportunity of seeing you until now.”

“Very well, Henry, I forgive them, for it is not in my nature to keep anger long; but tell them that they should not wantonly wound the feelings of an unoffending comrade.  As I told them, they may regret their unkindness to me before another sun has set.  If so, I wish them no other punishment.”

“What mean you, my dear Raymond?”

“Egad!  I scarcely know myself, but something tells me very forcibly my hour is come.”

“Nonsense, this is but the effect of the depression, produced by fatigue and over excitement, added to the recent annoyance of your feelings.”

“Whatever it proceed from, I had made up my mind to it before we set out.  Henry, my kind good Henry, I have neither friend nor relative on earth—­no one to inherit the little property I possess.  In the event of my falling, you will find the key of my desk in the breast pocket of my coat.  A paper in that desk appoints you my executor.  Will you accept the trust?”

“Most sacredly, Raymond, will I fulfil every instruction it contains; should I myself survive; but I cannot, will not, bring myself to anticipate your fall.”

“Move on, move on,” passed quickly in a whisper from front to rear of the column.”

“God bless you, Henry” exclaimed Raymond, again pressing the hand of the youth—­“remember the key.”

“We shall talk of that to night,” was the light reply.  “Meanwhile, dear Raymond, God bless you,” and again Grantham fell back to his place in the rear of the division.